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Odysseus lies awake in bed at night, thoughts filled with his encounter with Circe and his earlier encounter with Poseidon. He tries to close his eyes to get a good rest after over nine days of keeping himself awake so the windbag wouldn't be opened. He tries not to think of how he failed, his weary eyes too tired to open. He dreamt of seeing Penelope and Telemachus but never being able to reach them and hold them close to him.
But every time he closes his eyes, all he can hear are screams.
Screams of 'Captain!' as they get drowned by Poseidon or smashed by the Cyclops club. He watched as more of his men died under his command, while he was unable to do anything to stop it from happening. From six hundred men to forty-three men left in the span of a few months or years — he can't seem to remember how long they have been traveling on the seas. Polites was the one who kept track of the date, but they lost track of it when he passed away.
In his nightmares, he would be standing before Athena while five hundred fifty-seven of his men were behind the goddess of wisdom. Polites would be the more prominent one, standing beside Athena while holding the infant in his arms that Odysseus threw off the wall because of a prophecy Zeus had told him.
Athena would stare him down while never saying a word. Her eyes are blank of pupils but glowing brightly, like the other gods he has encountered. She is not in the form he sees when he just wants to spend time with her. He sees the goddess of wisdom with the same expression on her face when they argue while on Quick Thought. He doesn't see a friend, but a mentor, who was disappointed by the choices he made. He sees a goddess who is disappointed that he is not the warrior of the mind she made him to be.
His men would reach out to him, hands outstretched, while their expressions were full of sorrow and fury. They are the corpses of his men, their bodies dripping with blood. Some of the men have their bodies mangled and torn, their organs barely falling off their bodies. Others have their head crushed or part of it missing, exposing the brains, and missing body parts due to the Cyclops club. Bone sticking out of the skin, while the body part is twisted beyond imaginable. The drowned men were dripping wet, their bodies wrinkled and bloated. Their skin is in a sickly blueish-grey color, the veins more evident due to how pale the body is. Some of them are pierced with the wood from the ship.
Their screams would always reach his ears, and echo in his eardrums. They do nothing but scream at him, repeating 'Captain! Captain!' are unceasing. Sometimes they would say 'Why did you let the Cyclops kill us?' or 'Why didn't you kill the Cyclops, Captain? We could have gotten home if you did.' They say it with sorrow and fury, tears streaming down their face.
They would grab him by the arm and be dragged towards them. Their ghostly hands were all over his body and dragged him under and under until his body burned and burned. It burns him; it hurts him.
And this pain is excruciating.
It's more pain than he had ever felt in his entire life.
He drowns in this pain and he screams louder than he ever has, his throat hurting as he strains it.
It hurts, it hurts, it hurts—
His eyes fly open, a cut-off scream escaping his lips as he sits up from the bed while sweat drips on his forehead. He is breathing heavily while feeling his throat close up.
Odysseus looks around in a daze at an unfamiliar room, wondering where he is until remembers that Circe let him and his men stay at her palace for a day or two when she notices his haggard appearance and looks as though he is about to pass out at any moment. She had told him to rest even though he had protested he was fine. His protests did not work. Not when he almost fell to the floor after a step or two.
A sigh escapes from him while running a hand through his hair. He looks outside and presses his lips into a thin line when he notices it's still dark outside. Although he could already see the sun beginning to rise from a distance.
He knows he only got a few hours of sleep. It's not enough to recover the hours of sleep he lost while trying to keep the windbag closed, but he knows it's enough for him to not be dead on his feet when he and his crew visit the underworld to look for the prophet who can help them get back home.
He does not get off the bed to prepare yet. He is still too tired, too exhausted to get his body to move. His mind is too tired to think this early. His body still feels sluggish, slower than he'd like when he moves. It is unbecoming of him to be this slow when he fought in a war that lasted for a decade.
He looks down at his hands visibly shaking. He wonders whether it's from the lack of sleep he got or the nightmare he had. He shakily exhales while grabbing the blankets on top of him and moves them away. Odysseus moves slowly to the side, letting his feet touch the cold floor. His hands are now holding the mattress and he uses it to push himself up.
His body feels heavy, weighing in the exhaustion from everything that has happened so far. He fears he won't be able to come back home to his family if Poseidon continues to go after them and hopes the prophet will help him return home.
If the prophet won't be able to give him answers, he'll try harder to go back home. He'll do anything to go back home to see Penelope and Telemachus again.
Thinking about them gives him a small burst of energy, just barely enough to keep him going for the rest of the time before they set sail.
Odysseus starts preparing for the journey to the underworld, both mentally and physically. Seeing the ghosts of their previous crew will haunt his remaining crew and he needs to be the strong one for them to get through it all. He is the Captain and their King, after all.
He breathes deeply, a repeating motion of inhaling and exhaling to calm himself before leaving the room to meet up with Circe.